Victoria’s Demon Lover

by Alia Bess

  Jack came in with a smile. “Maggs. Finally. The day is over. I have been thinking about this moment all day.” He pulled her to him and bent to kiss her. Victoria opened her mouth and took his lips. Her back seemed to turn to jelly. His hands held her tighter as he felt her relax. She put her arms around his back, feeling the great strength there and breathing in the warm scent of his body. An honest man smell. No perfumes or deodorants or nasty cologne. Just warm man. He had rinsed himself from the barrel at the forge before coming on for his supper, but in a land where soft soap was a luxury he retained the glowing scent of honest labor. Victoria loved it. She breathed him in some more and was reminded of the soft coat of a horse. When she was a teenager she used to lean in to breathe in the scent of her horse in that warm place on his neck under the mane as she brushed him. This is what Jack smelled like. Like dust and fur and warmth.

  She squeezed him tighter and he gave her a soft laugh as he nuzzled her neck under her hair. “Come, woman. Time for us.”

  She started on the laces of her dress. He laughed some more and helped her. He said, “Yesterday you snapped at me that you were too tired from all the baking.”

  “I am not too tired tonight,” she answered softly. She let him finished unlacing her dress and went for his breeches. The leather belt was unfamiliar and fastened with a loop and tie rather than a buckle. She tugged at him, making him sway to catch his balance. The leather came away and she unfastened the buttons that held the homespun wool to his hips. It fell to the stone floor. He stepped out of it and tugged her dress over her head. They stood there, naked, looking at each other in the candlelight.

  “Ah, Maggs, you are a sight,” he smiled. “The loveliest woman in the village.”

  “Ah, Jack,” she tilted her head shyly, “you are magnificent. The finest man in the village.” And he was. That happy feeling came over Victoria again as she took his hand and led him to the bed against the wall.

  He took time touching her and brushing his lips over her breasts and fingers. He put his big hands on every part of her body, exploring her like he might examine one of his tools before using it. She wiggled into the soft bedding and played with his cock while he touched her. He lay on his side, allowing her plenty of access. She stroked him slowly and gently, not wanting to get him so excited he might stop the caresses.

  She was enjoying the strokes of his hands on her skin as a cat does. She stretched and moved, responding to his hands as his cock responded to hers by becoming as hard as iron. She could not resist making soft moaning sounds as he brought a finger up and over one of her nipples. She squeezed him and he groaned. He put his head down over her breasts and took a nipple in his mouth and pulled gently first with his teeth then his lips until she had to let go of his cock.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed, arching her back. “Oh.”

  “You like that, my little cat,” he murmured. “Well. I learned something in Paris you might enjoy even more.” He grinned down at her. “I admit that I think I will enjoy it as well.” His hand smoothed over the curve of her belly and to the cleft between her legs. He touched her clit with one finger until she squirmed again. She reached for his cock, but he moved his hips out of range. “In a minute, love. This first.” He rose on one elbow and slid lower on the bed until he positioned himself out of sight between her knees. She rose up on her elbows to see what he was doing.

  “No, lie down. Relax,” he said.

  She did. She blinked, realizing what was coming. “Ah,” she said. Her memories of the fumbling attempts of past lovers at cunnilingus made her smile. She knew Jack would do a better job, and when she felt his tongue slide between the folds between her legs she was certain. Her demon had pleasured her this way. She arched her hips up to meet his mouth and he held her down.

  “Mmmm,” he said.

  “Ah,” she said again, trying not to move. He was circling the clit with just the tip of his tongue now, making her tingle and glow from her middle out to her feet. She clenched and unclenched her toes in ecstasy. Her knees trembled as he gently tugged at her labia with his teeth between light touches around the clit. She could not help stiffening her muscles. She twisted herself to increase the contact and he held her just as tightly away. Still his tongue flicked and flicked at her clit until she shuddered, her knees squeezed his head and her toes raked his sides.

  “God God God,” she cried as the pleasure increased. There had never been an orgasm like this in the history of the world. Victoria wanted to scream but she could not breathe. She panted, blinking rapidly. Instead of fading like a well-behaved orgasm, this one continued to peak with every feathery touch of his tongue until her hips and legs began to fight him. She kicked and bucked, but he was stronger and was enjoying this too much. He held her down with his blacksmith muscles. The tongue touched her over and over, with just a whisper of contact until she was mad with it. She finally had enough air to cry out, but instead of the piercing scream, the sound that came out was a low deep moan. He stopped and took his face from her body and waited for the moaning to stop.

  “Oh ah,” she breathed.

  “Yes.” He put his feet on the floor and stood by the bed so she could see his erection. “You are as soft and smooth as butter, little Maggs. This will slide in and you will not wince this time.”

  He climbed over her and slid it in, his shoulders bunched as he held himself over her body. His hips pushed himself inside all the way in until their bodies touched hip to hip. Victoria gasped with the new sensations. The old orgasm had not dissipated, and she felt its dying embers ignite again as his thick cock entered her and tugged at her clit. She felt her vagina greet his hardness with waves of pleasurable contractions. He threw his head back and sighed, feeling the welcoming squeezes. He did not move, but stayed inside her, pushing when he could not help himself, but not withdrawing. He went down on his elbows so he could kiss her and Victoria brought his tongue into her mouth and sucked it, then chewed gently on his lips. His stubble scratched her deliciously and she moved her head so she could kiss and nibble him along his jaw. She could put her lips at his throat and kissed him there until he moaned and she felt him become even more impossibly harder inside her.

  This he could not bear, and his back arched, driving himself inside, in and out now, panting. Her body responded with more welcoming wetness and the squishing sounds that accompanied his mighty thrusts only encouraged him to move faster.

  “God, Maggs,” he groaned, “I am dying, oh God oh God.”

  He was not dying. She knew this was true. Her fingers dug into his back, feeling the fierce strength and power of his body as he moved back and forth with the exertion of his thighs. He thrust faster and harder and his breaths echoed the effort. Soon all she could hear was the rasping breath of a man about to explode in orgasm.

  “Oh god, Maggs, uhnnnn….” His hips ground onto her and she felt him swell inside with his shooting cum. He pressed harder as each spurt erupted from his cock and flooded her inside with his seed. He bent his back and his arms trembled.

  Victoria was giddy with his pleasure. She sighed and rubbed his back as he collapsed over her. She nibbled his ear as he lowered his head. He thrust one more time with the last spasm, then rolled off her and lay on his back, sweating and panting. She smiled and sighed again. She could feel his cum leaking out of her and soaking the sheets beneath her buttocks. She tensed.

  Her first thought was that she would have to wash these sheets by hand, but the next thought was about that cum. In the passion of the moment and the fantastic nature of this encounter it had never occurred to her to use birth control. She frowned. No birth control here. She wasn’t even sure what century this was. From the things in the cottage it could be anywhere from fifteenth to nineteenth. No much had changed technologically in those years in rural areas.

  “This isn’t real,” she assured herself.

  “Feels pretty damned real to me.” Jack said. “Damned real.”

  “Oh,” she rolled to her side to
face him and more juices dribbled over her thighs. “I mean this delicious feeling inside me,” she answered and congratulated herself on a nice save.

  He was pleased. “I knew you would like it eventually. I tried to make you like it.” He moved one big hand over the curve of her ribs, down the valley of her waist and up over her hips. The sound of his voice implied that he had worried. Victoria remembered Maggie’s cries on their wedding night and nodded.

  “I like it,” she said, and it was the truest thing she had ever uttered.

  He grinned. “It is getting late and we both have a long day tomorrow. But I will look forward to sunset tomorrow.”

  She smiled back at him. “A long day?”

  “Remember?” he asked. “Lord Brigayne is coming for his sword.”

  “Oh.” She did not remember. She wondered what that meant. Should the cottage be spotless? Would a lord enter the cottage of a common working man? Her brain zoomed through every history book she ever read searching for the answer. No. A great lord would never deign to enter this house, unless he was sick or injured or on official business. She relaxed. He was coming to inspect Jack’s work. He would go to the forge only. She stiffened with pride. Her husband was the finest metalworker in the county. He would be a master soon. She knew this was true.

  “I will make sure there is a special supper for you.”

  He sighed again. “I have to sleep. God. It is like too much ale.” He closed his eyes and Victoria covered him with one of the thick wool blankets.

  “Sleep then, my love,” she whispered, and the rush of intense happiness washed over her was more powerful than any of the orgasms, real or imagined.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Victoria woke up as Maggie. This was the first time she had awakened in a bed that was not her own. She had mixed feelings about this. The first was the joy she felt at hearing Jack’s rumbling snores beside her in the darkness. That was probably what woke her. The other was the concern that she was now trapped in a previous century.

  She wasn’t complaining. No. She shook her head. Not complaining. But the twinge of the loss of the freedom she had been enjoying felt like a painful pinch. If she called Jasper would he come? Could she go back for a shower and a latte and return for the sex? Was it all or nothing?

  She slid from the bed and more sticky fluids trickled down the inside of her thigh, reminding her of last night’s tumble. She unlatched a shutter and pushed it out. No clock. She looked to the east and saw the lighter glow over the tops of the trees and knew it was time to get up. Day started early here. It ended early, too, though, she reminded herself. She stirred the embers of the fire and looked in the basket for the last loaf of bread. She did not know what Maggie had been feeding him for breakfast. She hoped thick slices of toast and fresh butter would be enough. Her heart sank. She knew it was not. That muscle had to be fed and he had a long day of work ahead of him. No office cubicle and thirty minute commute for him. This man worked hard. Twelve hours six days a week. He needed more than a slice of toast.

  She sighed and peeked in every crock, looking for a clue. The sharp trill of a rooster made her jump, but Jack’s snore told her the sound had not even registered. Eggs. She got up and slipped her dress over her head. It was chilly outside, though it was summer. She paused long enough to tie her shoes on her feet and grabbed a basket. This was not like running down to the all night market. The air was crisp and had that new day freshness to it. The birds were not awake yet, except that rooster, and the silence was as refreshing as the air. No traffic rumble or lawnmowers or leaf blowers to mar the morning. She pushed open the barn doors and looked for chickens. Good call. They were lined up in the straw, ladies on their nests and they only blinked at her with round bird eyes when she snaked her hand under each warm bird butt for the smooth egg that lay under each hen.

  “Thank you, ladies” she said to them.

  They trilled softly at her. She wondered if he fed them, or if she was supposed to. She took the basket back to the cottage and set it on the table. Another snore from the bed. He would be up soon. She wondered if she normally woke him and if he relied on her to get him up. She chewed her lip. This was a big day. Better do it.

  She padded over to the bed and leaned over him. His cock was standing, tenting the blanket over his hips. She lifted the edge of the cloth to see it in the dim light. Very nice. She never had the angle to look at it for more than a few seconds when it was engaged in entering her. She remembered the evening when she and Torgal watched this cock deflower Maggs. Was it her? Victoria? It was. She had slid into Maggie’s body that night. She was Maggie. A different body, but it was still her. Mine. She reached out and grasped the cock gently.

  He jumped and covered her hand with his own for a moment before he was fully awake, then he laughed.

  “Did you not get enough last night?” he asked.

  “I was about to ask the same thing,” she nodded toward their two hands around his erection.

  “Never.” He took her arms and pulled her on top of him, rolled her over deftly and inserted the cock inside her so fast she was still blinking. “It is always ready for you, Maggs.”

  He closed his eyes and pumped. She was too surprised to respond. It felt good, like a massage feels good. Having him so close felt better, and seeing his love for her in his eyes was best of all. He came with many little spurts this time, rather than big gushes and quickly dismounted, bending over the bed with a little grimace. “Not a good idea to do that before I’ve pissed.” His face twisted in mock agony, and he limped out the door, naked.

  Victoria laughed. While he was gone she explored the fireplace looking for a way to cook those eggs. She found a cast iron pan and the crock of butter. He was getting them fried today whether he liked it or not. She opened all the shutters to let the morning sun illuminate her workspace and put the pan on the coal bed and sliced the bread. She saw Jack striding from the outhouse back to the cottage door and turned as he entered. He dressed quickly, jerking the laces of his breeches and then pulling on his heavy boots. She spread butter on the bread and turned the eggs.

  Minutes later he returned with a bucket of fresh milk and three eggs she had missed. She set his breakfast in front of him on a wooden trencher and he picked up a two-pronged fork.

  Fork. This must be at least the seventeenth century, she told herself. She had not the courage to ask him the date. He would think she had gone soft in the head. He shoveled the eggs into his mouth quickly and each slice of bread disappeared in three bites. She refrained from telling him to slow down, but wondered if he ever suffered from indigestion.

  His plate was clean. He glanced up at her before looking around the table. “No porridge this morning?”

  Ah. She forgot the porridge. He had already eaten the equivalent of three breakfasts. Six eggs and half a loaf of bread. She blushed. “Tomorrow, I promise.” She tilted her head at him, “I had an interruption this morning,” she used that as an excuse and it worked.

  “Ah, yes, my love. Maggie. Your little cunny is enough breakfast for me.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and pushed the bench back. He didn’t bother to put on a tunic, but went out the front door with thumps of his boots on the flagstone.

  “Jesus H Christ,” she breathed. “Fuck. Is this going to be my new life?” she asked aloud. So far so good. She could handle this. Hot showers and fancy restaurants faded in her memory to be replaced by this hot man and fancy sex. Good deal. She picked up his plate. Women’s liberation was centuries ahead of her, but she could put up with this. She sure could. Oh yes.

  Jasper stood between her and the sideboard where the washing up was done. “Oh no, Victoria.”

  She glared at him and raised the wooden plate like she would hit him with it. “Go away. I am enjoying myself.”

  “Victoria, please. Listen to me. I am not trying to ruin things for you, but something terrible is going to happen today and you can’t be here.”

  She lowered the plate to her sid
e. She leaned onto the table when her knees failed her. It occurred to her that she had seen Marcus slain, and watched Torgal slowly bleed to death. She had not seen what happened to Jack. Cold fingers clutched at her spine and she sank onto the bench, letting the trencher clatter to the floor.

  Jasper nodded. “You don’t have to be here when it happens. Come away with me now.” The little monkey demon extended his hand to her and the compassion in his monkey eyes was far from demonic. She blinked tears at him.

  “Can’t I do something?” she whispered.

  Jasper winced. “In a way you already have… or will, or did.” The verbal tenses didn’t seem to make much sense when discussing time travel. Jasper looked confused. “I don’t think you can change the past.”

  She thought about this. She considered taking his hand. She would return to her bed, perhaps make an espresso and sit on her sofa to watch the morning news show. The anchor ladies with their impossible hair-dos would go on and on about the local animal shelter and the traffic on the expressway. She could get in her car and go shopping for shoes. She could call a friend and have a light lunch in a fashionable bistro.

  Or she could watch Jack die. He had no scar on his neck. Not yet.

  She burst into tears and put her head down on her arms on the table. She felt Jasper’s little monkey hand patting her back. If she left now she wouldn’t know. She would worry all day, thinking about it. Nothing would bring her joy ever again.